


Different

by LadyBraken



Series: Terrorfest- Halloween 2019 [7]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, mild body horror, mild fantastic elements, the terrible ordeal of being known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: At first, James had thought it was the scurvy. Blood in his hair, darkness in his eyes. a general weakness - his ribs starting to show through his skin.





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> I'm SO LATE in this challendge but I SHALL DO IT TIL THE END

_ I scratch the edge of my face, pulling at _

_ _ _ seams. I must be wearing a mask.  _

_ _ _ That person is not me. _

_ _ _ Who is he? _

_ _ _ And why do I hate him? _

_ _ _ Who am I? _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -I do not know you. _

  
  


At first, James had thought it was the scurvy. Blood in his hair, darkness in his eyes. a general weakness - his ribs starting to show through his skin. 

_ I’m going to die _ , he had thought, and the idea only let him empty. Not quite accepting - almost wistful. At least this would be true. He had chuckled - not even that botter of a laugh. as death came, this really was an unheroïc one. The lack of dramatics was appalling, really. 

He hid the sickness like he hid his birth. No man could know. 

He had to be the Captain. 

James stared at his own reflexion in the mirror. He let the drop of blood redden his cheek like a deadly make up - the last layer of the creature he had made of himself. With the tip of his fingers, he smeared it in a blush. His other hand still held the dress - soft and beautiful- against him. 

A satisfied glint shone in his eyes. 

Then, the light faded out. 

\---

James didn’t looked at himself in the mirror anymore. He didn’t dare. 

Every week, he inspected the men. Shouted a loud call, until they were lined like good little soldiers. He pretended to check on their nails - he was checking on their health. A look in their eyes - no blood -, passing on their hair. 

Like what a captain should do. 

It was unusful, of course. All he did was, in a way. They were all sick - him most of all. But he looked at them so they wouldn’t look at him. Gazes passed on his face and found what they were looking for - nothing else. Nothing that was real. 

Sometimes, in the dark, he passed his fingers through his hair. On the back of his head. On his face. He closed his eyes and imagined what he refused to see. New marks, new scars. New bones against his skin.

_ New bones against his skin. _

\----

He was trembling. 

He was smelling of smoke, of blood, of grease. Of meat. 

_ Oh God, oh God, oh God- _

_ _ He was looking at the floor, staring at it. He couldn’t move. He had felt it all night, and he felt it now. When the death of his men should fill his thought, it seemed that his mind was swallowing itself. 

Francis barged in the cabin. 

James tried to roll up his sleeves - but it was to no avail. The Captain had seen, and his eyes widened in - shock, surely. It couldn’t be concern. 

Francis almost jumped on him, catching James arm in an almost bruising grip. Slowly, delicately, he cuffed back the sleeves, revealing what was underneath. 

It didn’t quite look like an arm anymore. 

It didn’t looked like anything. 

James kept his eyes averted. Not quite daring to witness Francis’s disgust - or the reason of his disgust. 

“Oh, James…”

He didn’t know if it was his name - or the way it was whispered- that made him looked back at Francis. 

Never before had he noticed how blue Francis’s eyes were. 

Had Francis changed too? Yes, yes he had, of course. The Francis of old hated James. Never would he have touched him. Never would he have comforted him.

James started crying. Francis kept his hands on his second arm, grounding, grounding.

\---

“I’m a fraud, Francis.”

“Around them, the rocks spread in every direction. Frozen cold, ashingly white. There was only the two of us. Like a hellish remaking of Eden. James wished they at least had an apple. 

“I’m not even fully English. Now I wonder if I’m fully human-”

Before he had the time to finish, he had his arms full of Francis. The man held him tight - misshapen ribs, unnatural limbs, cracking skin and all. 

Francis’s body didn’t quite fit against James’s. Not anymore - not since his chest had twisted. But it didn’t stop the man. 

“I don’t care what you are, James.” he whispered, “I know you. I know  _ you _ .”

And this time, for the very first time, James wholly, fully held Francis back. With all he was, he held back.


End file.
